His words were expected but they still brought a lump to her throat. The cat-eyed archer had saved her life and in the short amount of time that she’d known him, he’d also become her friend. She would miss his company. She stared into his strange golden gaze. “Thank you for saving my life…and for the gift of your friendship. I’ll miss your company.”
In a quiet voice, the archer replied, “The Goddess of the Forest meant for our paths to cross. Since meeting you, I’ve made more white-eyed friends in one day than in my entire life. Perhaps there is hope that my people will one day be accepted by the kingdoms of Erdhe.”
In a thoughtful voice, Kath said, “You’ll always be welcome at Castlegard. I’ll send a dispatch to my father telling him how a cat-eyed archer save my life. It is an affront to the Lords of Light that your people are not welcome in the kingdoms. I will do whatever I can to help them.”
Jorah stared at her as if weighing her every word. After a few moments, he bowed deeply and said, “Meeting you was truly the work of the goddess. Being welcome in Castlegard would be a great boon to my people.”
“I cannot promise it, for it depends on the will of the king, but I will do my best to make it so. Meanwhile you have my thanks and my friendship.” With a pause she added, “I hope some day our paths will cross again.”
The archer flashed her a grin. “You should visit the Deep Green.” He pressed a leather token into her hand. “Bring this with you when you come. Show it to a ranger and ask him to guide you to the Clan of the Cedars. I’d like my wife and small daughter to meet you.”
Nestled in her palm, Kath found a leather token the size of a gold coin. Leaves embossed the edges, a mighty redwood tree filling the center. Closing her fist around the token, she said, “I don’t know where my path will take me, but I will do my best to visit some day.”
Smiling, Jorah said, “You do that.” They clasped hands in friendship and then the archer bid farewell to the rest of the knights. Mounting the captured gelding, he rode into the forest, the pony trailing behind on a lead. The knights watched in silence until the archer passed from sight. The cat-eyed archer had made more than one friend around the campfire.
With the archer gone, the knights were quick to pack up camp. Captain Tellor barked orders, but Kath had other ideas. Drawing the captain aside, she said, “I know we’ve lost time, but I need to return to the forest before we journey to Lanverness.”
The captain gave her a puzzled look. “What are you talking about? Our arrival in Pellanor is long overdue.”
Kath tried her best to explain. “When I fled the servants of the Dark Lord, I stumbled across a ruined tower in the forest. I found something I must return for. It will only take a few hours at most.” Staring into his skeptical face, she added, “Please, I must return to the ruins.”
He gestured toward the leaden sky. “Winter has nearly caught us and we’re long overdue in the queen’s court. We don’t have time to wander the woods searching for lost ruins.”
Kath feared he’d be stubborn but she had no choice. Squaring her shoulders, she made her voice as hard as steel. “This is an order from a princess of Castlegard, not a request.”
Resentment snapped across his face.
She met his stare without flinching.
The captain was the first to look away. “If it’s truly that important, we’ll follow your lead to the ruins. But be quick about it. We’ve wasted enough time already.”
She did not like his tone, yet she held her anger. “Thank you, captain. It won’t take long.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
Kath reclaimed Dancer and led the mounted knights into the forest. Riding away from the gorge, she searched for the shallow stream. When they reached the brook, she followed the watercourse upstream to the overgrown ruins. Dismounting in the small greensward, she secured her horse, and then approached the captain, asking that Sir Blaine and Sir Tyrone accompany her while the rest of the party waited. A terse nod was the captain’s only reply. Taking her saddlebag, Kath led the two knights towards the ruins.
The towers and walls were nearly swallowed by the forest, consumed by living green. Kath led the two knights up the hill and through a gap in the collapsed wall. She ran her hand along the moss-covered stone, feeling a rightness she couldn’t explain. The doorway to the great drum tower gaped open, just as she remembered. Excitement claimed her and she quickened her pace. Kath felt an inexplicable longing, hoping the voice and the visions would be there to greet her. Holding her breath, she stepped into the tower. The great oak tree stood denuded of leaves, a shower of autumn gold carpeting the floor, but otherwise the broken tower remained the same…only this time there was no voice to greet her. A sigh of disappointment escaped her. The gaping silence felt like a great loss. A moment later, the two knights followed her through the doorway. A chime shimmered in the air. Inside of her head, a woman’s voice whispered, “The two knights will be true. Be welcome warriors of the Light.”
Gasping in delight, Kath stared at the knights. From the astonishment on their faces, she knew they’d both heard the unspoken words. Tears crowded her eyes; she would not be alone in the fight against the Dark Lord. “So you heard it too.”
The black knight nodded and Sir Blaine whispered, “What is this place?”
Like a dam breaking, she explained everything. She showed the two knights her gargoyle hidden beneath her tunic. She did her best to explain that it was a magical focus, a powerful relic from the Age of Magic. She told them how the strange goblin-man had the ability to track magic, to follow its scent. Naming the goblin-man a ‘hound of the Dark Lord’, she explained how the Mordant’s henchmen kidnapped her for the magical focus.
Sir Blaine nodded, understanding written on his face. “That makes more sense. None of us could figure out why anyone would steal you away. With your axes and gray tunic you look like a squire. No more and no less.”
Kath said, “Master Quintus warned me that others would covet my focus, so I kept the gargoyle hidden. I never dreamed the servants of the Dark Lord would discover it merely by smell.”
Sir Tyrone said, “There might be more of these goblin-men scouring the countryside for magic. We’d best be on our guard.”
Kath shuddered, hating the thought of it.
The black knight put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It is good you told us. Now we know what to look for.”
In a hesitant, voice Kath said, “Master Quintus said I should keep my gargoyle a secret. There may be others besides the goblin-man who would take it from me.”
“As you wish.” With a puzzled voice, he added, “But what is this place? Why did you bring us here?”
Kath smiled. “I stumbled upon these ruins by accident. I was hoping to find a weapon but I found something else. When I entered into the tower, I was greeted by the woman’s voice and shown visions of the past. The voice led me to a hidden dagger…a crystal dagger. Once I held it in my hands, I knew it was meant to be the bane of a great evil. I left the dagger in its hiding place and led the captain and his men away from the tower.” Dropping her voice to a hush, she said, “I did not expect to survive the fight. If not for the archer, I would have died in the meadow.” She shuddered, making the hand sign against evil. “But having survived, I knew I had to return to claim the dagger.” She stared at the knights, desperate to be believed.
Sir Tyrone glanced at Sir Blaine. A knowing look passed between them. Turning back to Kath, the black knight’s voice was solemn. “My Lady, we both heard the voice of the tower. We have no doubt that you are marked by Valin.” Dropping to his knee, he drew his sword, extending the hilt toward her. Sir Blaine did the same. In a solemn voice, Sir Tyrone said, “Our swords are yours. Accept our service in the battle against the Dark.”
The air in the tower stilled as if an invisible presence waited to hear her response. Kath felt as if she had done this before, as if history repeated itself. Time shifted and for a single heartbeat she stood in the tower at the
peak of its glory, the corbelled vault gleaming like a star-studded sky. A heartbeat later and she was standing in the ancient ruins. Taking a steadying breath, she reached out to lightly touch the hilts of their swords. Echoing the words her father used when making new knights, she said, “Arise Sir Knights, your oaths of fealty are accepted. Let honor, justice, and truth guide your swords in the service of the Light.”
A second chime shimmered through the air, witnessing the vow.
The two knights sheathed their swords and rose to their feet, staring in awe at the ruins. The towers of the eight-pointed star were broken but an ancient power still lingered in the keep.
Kath whispered, “Truly, the Lords of Light keep watch upon this place.”
The wind stirred, lifting the autumn leaves into a golden swirl. The invisible presence seemed to withdraw.
In a hushed voice, Sir Tyrone said, “My Lady, perhaps you should recover this weapon of the Light.”
Kath climbed the circular stairway and knelt on the sixth step. She swung the seventh step outward, revealing the hidden place beneath. Reaching into the recess, Kath recovered the golden box. She descended the stairs and showed the box to the two knights.
Sir Blaine gasped when he saw it. “I’ve seen this device before! When we were searching for you, I came across some ruins in the depths of the forest. A shield bearing an eight-pointed star was carved on the keystone. I remember it clearly because the emblem puzzled me.” Pausing he added, “The ruins must somehow be connected.”
The thought of another ruined tower teased Kath’s imagination, wondering what treasures might lie hidden among the tumbled stones. “Did you hear the woman’s voice or the chime?”
Blaine shook his head. “The tower was ruined, nothing but a nest for starlings.”
Kath heard the disappointment in his voice. “This place seems old, very old. I suspect the heraldry is lost to the past yet the power of the Light remains.” Taking a deep breath, she opened the box and revealed the dagger.
Sir Blaine gasped, “A crystal dagger!”
She lifted the pale rose-white dagger in salute to the heavens. The hilt fit her hand as if it belonged. Smooth as silk, the crystalline blade caught and held the light till it seemed to glow from within. There was no doubt in Kath’s mind that the dagger was a mighty weapon of the Light. She wondered how long it lay hidden in the ruins. She wondered if anyone remembered its true purpose.
Sir Tyrone broke the silence. “The others are waiting.”
With great reluctance, she settled the dagger back into the golden box and closed the lid. Like the gargoyle, she would keep the dagger hidden until it was needed. Looking at the two knights, she saw approval in their gaze.
Hiding the golden box in her saddlebag, Kath left the broken tower. The two knights followed, guarding her back. As she stepped from the tower, the first snowflake of the year brushed against her face. Winter had come to the lands of Erdhe but the gods had not abandoned them.
45
Steffan
In just one visit, the Dark Oracle had taught Steffan many things. He’d been surprised to learn that the Dark Lord loved crowds, a fulcrum of human nature. With crowds the whole was so much less than the sum of the parts. Individuals unconsciously surrendered their intelligence and their morals to join the crowd’s collective mind in exchange for false feelings of invincibility. It was almost as if a new entity was born, an entity susceptible to suggestions and ruled by the baser instincts of man. It was so much easier to twist a man’s soul once he’d joined a crowd. A decent man caught up in the mentality of the crowd would do unspeakable things, things that would forever taint his soul. Once twisted to the Dark side few found their way back to the Light.
Crowds enabled moral corruption to occur on a grand scale. It was why the Dark Lord loved them so. Now it was Steffan’s turn to use the power of crowds to whip the people of Coronth into a religious frenzy.
He started his work with whispers and rumors. Nothing caught the people’s attention like a good rumor. The new ritual wasn’t scheduled to start till noon but curiosity brought the people to the square at dawn’s first light. The gathering grew as the morning advanced. To swell the crowds even further, the general ordered the city guards to attend the ritual. Red and gold tabards stood out against the everyday colors. People of every description jammed together with barely a space between. The temple square overflowed with the faithful. They’d all heard that today’s Test of Faith was going to be something special, something not to be missed. Expectation charged the air. Steffan smiled. It was the perfect atmosphere for staging a miracle.
Dressed as a commoner, Steffan wove his way through the edge of the crowd. The fringe of the crowd was always the perfect vantage point to gauge the success of the pageant.
As he walked, he eavesdropped on conversations. Speculation about the new ritual was rampant. Most looked forward to a massive burning, a feast of death. Some even speculated on the names of the sinners. Opinions varied but the voices all held the same eagerness, the same morbid fascination. Steffan smiled, amused by how quickly the people of Coronth had acquired a voyeuristic taste for death. Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, regardless of their social station, they all flocked to see their unknown neighbor walk the flames. Death was the ultimate spectacle, the drawing card, but Steffan suspected the Test of Faith also served deeper needs. It gave the crowd tangible proof that they were special, they were chosen, they were saved. People fooled themselves into believing that the faithful watched while only the guilty burned. Laughing to himself, Steffan was sure that the Dark Lord was pleased.
Anonymous in the sea of people, Steffan elbowed his way up a set of steps overlooking the square. Satisfied with his position, he settled in to wait.
The temple drums began their thunder, marking the start of the ritual. The people turned as one to watch the massive brass doors swing open. Priests and acolytes streamed out of the temple, a stately procession of red robes and incense burners. Swaying to the rhythm of the drums, they marched toward the center of the square, taking positions surrounding the charcoal pit. The rhythm proved contagious, the drums a hypnotic heartbeat. Onlookers nearest the pit began to mimic the motion of the priests. Soon, a sea of people swayed in unison. Primed for the spectacle, a crowd was born.
The red robed Keeper emerged from the temple. Carrying a massive gold torch lit with the Sacred Flame, he made his way toward the pit. In a flourish, he touched he torch to the charcoal. The pit erupted in a ball of fire. Flames leaped and crackled, sending orange tendrils licking toward the sky. The drums quieted and the crowd stilled. The stage was set.
Into the hushed silence, the Pontifax strode from the temple. Cloaked in a cloth of gold, he shimmered like the dawn light. With his long flowing beard and stately bearing, the Pontifax evoked the very image of wisdom and benevolence. Women and children reached out to touch the hem of his robe, begging for his blessing.
Making the sign of the Flame, the Pontifax mounted the dais and stretched his arms in benediction. “My people! The Flame God is the very essence of love! Believe in the holy Flames and your sins will be forgiven! Follow the holy Flames and you will find salvation!” His voice fell into the cadence of a chant, seducing the people with words of love. The crowd stood spellbound, enthralled by their high priest.
The Pontifax signaled the waiting guards. A wagon surrounded by soldiers forged a path towards the fire pit. A corpulent man struggled against the wooden stocks mounted on the wagon bed. Twisting against his chains, he sobbed for mercy but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
Steffan watched from the edge of the crowd, listening as those around him strained to identify the victim. Most took delight in the fat man’s fear. A few jeered while others threw rotten fruit. The wagon lurched to a stop near the flaming pit. Soldiers released the sinner from the stocks and led him in chains to the foot of the dais. His knees buckled but the soldiers held him upright. The sacrifice was ready.
“Give him to the Flames!”
“Let him burn!”
“Test his Faith!”
Shouts rang from all sides of the square, but the Pontifax stood transfixed, as if waiting for something special. The people eventually understood. Like a deadly serpent uncoiling, the crowd roused its unified voice. “The Test of Faith!” The shout struck like thunder, a deadly verdict echoing through the square. The death of the sacrifice was now on the heads of the crowd. The crowd became a mob.
Smiling, Steffan wondered how many ‘decent’ people had just shouted for the death of their neighbor. It must have been legions for he could feel the Dark Lord’s pleasure.
At a gesture from the Pontifax, the fat merchant was thrust deep into the heart of the flames. Screams erupted from the pit. The fat merchant danced in the grip of the flames, his face contorted in agony. His white tunic caught fire. Soldiers used spears and swords to keep the victim from escaping. Tortured screams and oily black smoke rose from the fire. The crowd strained forward, struggling to catch every grizzly detail.
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 30
